Trauma One

Sirens rip through G.W. Hospital's shadowed arteries, slamming Josh Lyman's blood-soaked gurney into Trauma One's merciless glare—sterile battlefield primed for collapse. Fluorescent stabs illuminate crash carts bristling with chest tubes and trauma trays, monitors screeching silent wars as nurses bark clipped readiness: 'Trauma One's set!' Their urgent confirmations fuse staff terror into surgical frenzy, where no-exit bullets shred lungs and delirium spills cryptic senatorial whispers, forging national nightmare into visceral fight for one man's faltering breath.